My oldest and best friend Waterfall
just died of heart magick
so I missed his wake on Hippy Hill,
and got on a plane
and went to old Hawai'i instead
to explore a new grandson's huge eyes
and sudden smile
and wonder how fast a soul
could transmigrate
I let my son drag me into a
Hawai'ian jungle of strange plants
to see a yurt for sale in the dead of night
far from buslines, far to the nearest bar
or the outdoor loo
built of twigs and branches
and a volcanic mud floor
windows peeking out at the birds
the mynah plucking at plumeria
I don't know if I can be a jungle woman,
retired to solitude and contemplation
can a laptop outshout the birds
can a yellow birdie hopping
on an iron fence painted the same color
find safety and peace
and a warm send-off into the air
and a warm send-off into the air
on sunshine wings flagging
too fast to follow
The waterfall beckons.
Darkness smiles.
To be a drop of water falling
to notice that it is water and
splashes into a single waterfall
through the elements shining
and a dream of an elephant,
splashing and laughing in the
waterness of the falls.
We drove out to the volcanic flats
in the area where the goddess Pele/Kilauea
flowed and covered my son's house.
We went to an old rough-built lean-to
sitting on the black swirling lava rock
already crumbling and servant
to green shoots and plants.
The young man who had lived there
died and left dozens of photos
of friend and twin family alike
wind and rainswept on the walls
of his two-sided shack.
Personal items lined the walls,
a pallet with his sleeping bag still there.
A man figure made of wooden planks
and painted jolly smile and round eyes,
arms swinging, almost a windmill
with tiny bells hanging from painted
hands and fingers, waving in the wind
rain already soaking painted eyes
that had tiny streams of blue running
down his face, scarecrow straw hat
picked apart by black birds.
A shrine of black rocks, with his photo
a young man healthy happy and smiling
little plots of red and yellow flowers,
a plastic lei of white and blue
green shoots of plants already
growing up through the rocks.
Tom looked into a little carved box
on a small improvised table inside
the lean-to, lifting the lid, to finger
a few buds of marijuana
half-destroyed by weather and time,
tiny pot seeds chewed by tiny insects
into bits of seed and holes in the whole ones.
My ears hurt from the wet wind that blew,
even sitting on the pallet protected from the wind
by the two walls lined with photos.
I longed for a hooded raincoat and scarf.
But then this young man grew up here
and surfed the magnificent ocean every day.
No water was foreign to his spirit.
The Merry Monarchs
The Merry Monarchs dancing
Hawai'i hula, be-flowered
and long grasses waving,
sunful colored fabrics tied on
and green leaves crowning all.
No smiles of laughter
ever surpassed these happy faces
children of palm and beach and ocean,
red of goddess Pele mountain of fire
over all, building anew
touching the dancing, churning sea.
Crying with laughter
sons and daughters of
Liliuokalani and Kamehameha
still here, dancing royal history
and tribute to the land,
and sea, and sky.
Jehanah 2010
